


Fantasy To Reality

by Trekgloria



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 08:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13477878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trekgloria/pseuds/Trekgloria
Summary: A little musing on the transformation of Demelza from scullery maid to wife.  A bit of fluff and fun.





	Fantasy To Reality

Fantasy To Reality

"Demelza, you're staring, are you having a fit?" Ross asked.  
She often studied him, not so obvious that he would notice usually, but when he was deep in thought, reading, comparing maps, or exhausted from a day's work dozing by the fire. This was a habit Demelza began when Ross first invited her to join him at the end of the day for better light or a warmer seat as she did the clothes mending. So engrossed in his tasks Ross was generally unaware of Demelza's fancy. On the occasion Ross would glance up and catch her looking at him so intently, at first Demelza stammered and blushed, but she soon had learned to smile and ask some inane question; did he want something to drink, did he hear something, or could she see what he was looking at, all random questions just to allay that guilty getting caught feeling. And often, Ross would invite her to look at what he was examining and explain things. Early on Demelza loved to kneel beside him and listen to him speak about the mine or plans for the fields. At those times, she could be so close, lean against him, feel his warm body, inhale his fragrance, and he did not seem to notice or mind that she was touching him. If it was a particularly complicated topic, he'd turn to face her, explaining carefully. Even listening to her views. Sharing that time, being privy to his thoughts and plans was a small pleasure she reveled in. It was such a private and intimate time, only the two of them discussing the future of the estate, his plans, what they would do together. Such shared moments brought a contentment she only felt when they were alone together. If Ross enjoyed their closeness, Demelza could never determine. Too quickly he'd smile at her and end the conversation. But for those few moments, touching him and being his confidant meant more than the clothes and food he provided for her as his maid.  
But, Demelza stared because he was beautiful, manly beautiful and she was in awe of this man. His body was honed from the hard work he did daily, muscles rippling with every move he made. When Ross would change his shirt carelessly tossing the worn one to her as she handed him a clean one, in his presence, granting her that intimacy of knowledge of his body. Demelza could feel the blood rush to her cheeks as she tried not to gape at the thick chest hair and his long lean torso.  
But more than just beautiful, it was his how he navigated thorough life. His skill in riding, surely he was like the knights of old who banished the knaves with a sword and swooped up the damsels to carry them away to his keep. Especially the times Ross placed her on the saddle in front of him, his arms encircling her as he held the reins. Demelza regretted ever taking them up and guiding the horse, as he no longer need to embrace her with his arms. Still so close as they rode together, often his body pressed against hers, or when he held her around the waist as the horse navigated a particular treacherous stretch of path. Those moments she craved, wishing the horse would bolt and Ross would hold her fast in his arms. The feel of his hands when working together, if he offered his to steady her, she could feel the power he possessed from wielding a pick or guiding the ox at the plow, creating deep furrows to sow the seeds for the harvest. Or his face, though bearing a scar was no less handsome, as the mark only drew the eye to study him, wonder at his wound, what he suffered, and how he now viewed the world. His mouth fascinated Demelza, she would watch him speak, eat, and wait for a smile. Or as he slept, often there was the slightest parting of his lips, or the way he licked them when deep in thought. And too often Demelza had found herself imagining that he would kiss her. But it was his eyes that changed as quickly as the clouds shifted shape with the slightest puff of wind. May hap it was in his eyes she found so much to fancy. Ross held gazes with everyone, open, honest, never any fear in them. Demelza had learned to read each look and know what Ross was feeling, thinking, even wanting. She knew how to respond from a glance at his eyes. But, the one thing Demelza lacked was knowing if maybe he was thinking of her. Sometimes she did catch him looking at her, usually from a distance or when she was hard at a task. Those looks she could feel before see, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, suddenly a warmth crawled across her body. If Demelza dared to look at him, he'd turn and walk away, often leaving her to wonder if she'd done wrong.  
Still Demelza often wondered if Ross wasn't one of the fae who the old villagers believed still inhabited the land, the ancient ones who fashioned all those stone mounds scattered across the moors. Or maybe he was one of King Arthur's knights who fell asleep for centuries in a cairn, had awakened, and now had to live out his life here. Demelza could see Ross as a dashing hero, charging about the country to right wrongs, gallant and kindly to those in needed. Or could he be one of the selchies who sometimes came to land and lived for awhile with a human spouse. Demelza had heard all the stories from the Droll Tellers who came on feast and market days. These bards would fill the air with their yarns of the fairy folk, giants, and the ancients. Until Demelza met Ross, she had believed none of their tales, silly stories to scare the children and strike a chord with the elders of a time of sovereignty in the land. But Ross gave Demelza faith that there might be some truth in the stories from the past. Demelza could well imagine Ross as a champion of old, roaming the land to save the local folk and slay the monsters ravaging the land. For the common folk, no longer did fear come from giants and dread creatures of yore, rather now it was those with money and power who would destroy the natives for an extra groat. For Demelza, Ross was her hero, had he not defended, even saved her, then carried her to his domain, given her a life full of comforts most of her class would never know. Ross was like no one else she had ever known. Yet in truth Demelza had little to compare him to beyond the storytellers tales of the heroes who once held sway over this land.  
Life in a miners cottage had no luxuries, often not even all of the bare necessities to keep a body alive and rarely clean. And Ross was so keen for a body to be clean. Always, he kept himself washed, something that was a bit of a surprise to Demelza initially. Each day as she performed her chores, she found the basin in his bedroom, the ewer empty, the basin full of dying bubbles. Demelza would fling the used water from the bedroom window over the patch of land where she'd planted a small garden of lavender, mint, and thyme against the south facing wall. Somehow his essence in the water seemed to make the plants more robust, at least Demelza believed, recalling the magic of like for like she learned from her mother. But it was the weekly baths he took in the back pantry that most aroused her. How many buckets of water had she pumped, toted, heated, and poured into the copper tub, and then emptied when he finished? Those first weeks, she wondered that he didn't just dissolve, he bathed so often.  
But, Ross made sure she washed also. The first time he'd told her to use the tub, made her afeard, she'd never sat in water to bathe before. Nervous that she'd somehow break it and embarrassed by her body, Demelza left her shift on that first time. So worried about this new way of bathing after heating the water, she failed to test it before sticking her foot in. She howled with pain. Ross came to the door, asked what was wrong, and began to turn the handle, flinging herself against it to keep him out, she answered she was fine. Later, when she was sitting by the kitchen fire rubbing her hair dry, he came in and asked again what had caused her to cry out. Eyes downcast she confessed. Ross laughed and suggested she take as much care with herself as she did with him in the future. Demelza could feel her cheeks burn with shame that he was thinking about her naked, but realized more because she was thinking of him naked. After, Demelza made sure Ross was out of the house before she used the tub for bathing. But that first bath in the tub, Demelza understood why Ross enjoyed it so much. Sinking into the warm water was a luxury Demelza had never imagined. After a few minutes, her skin became like silk, her hair floated and swirled as if it had a life of it's own. Slipping under the water and looking up she felt like a selchie herself, freed of all earthy bonds, reborn, and safe. Was this how the ghosts of Lyonesse viewed the world of the living from their watery grave? Demelza wondered if this was how Ross experienced his weekly soaks. Funny she remembered, he frequently told Purdie she needed to be clean to be in his home, yet never required her to use the tub. But Ross always reminded Demelza when it was time for her weekly bath. At first Demelza required such prompts, but soon she realized, she wanted Ross to tell her it was time for her bath, to know he was thinking about her, in the tub, and naked as the day she was born. Each time he reminded her, Demelza would feel her cheeks flame, drop her eyes, and scurry away, too afraid he would know her desires, yet thrilled at his notice of her.  
In time, Demeza begin to fancy staying in the pantry after she filled the tub for his bath, helping Ross to remove is clothes, see him stand before her naked as he stepped into the tub, and even if he would let her scrub him. Sometimes as Demelza soaked she imagined taking the large sponge Ross used from the shelf, slipping it in the water and letting it swell. Then gently squeezing it over his head to wet his curls. Creating a lather from the soap she had made, and watching him lean forward while she gently rubbed it all over his back. Then he would lean back and let her do the same to his chest. These had been fantasies for some time. Later Demelza began to imagine she was in the tub and Ross was the one with the sponge on her body.  
But tonight Ross had caught her staring. Should she confess or let him think it was a fit. Which had less humiliation Demelza wondered.  
"No Ross, just daydreaming." She shared truthfully, and as long as he didn't ask about what, she could just smile.  
"If it's dreams you're needing, then up to bed with you." Ross told her.  
"And will you be joining me?" Demelza asked.  
"As any good husband should." Ross replied. "Besides, after our time in the tub tonight, I've a good mind to make sure I removed all the dirt you so handily attract, I'll need to do a thorough check of your body."  
"Yes Ross." Demelza smiled, already imagining what he would do her. These were the early halcyon days of their marriage, filled with loving. She no longer had to secretly stare at him, and yet there was something about that intimate act she still desired to do, to see Ross as only she could, the man she loved. What had begun as a fantasy for Demelza was now reality.


End file.
